The Ordinary Life
by Daughter of Atlas
Summary: Being Michael's receptionist is hard, and sitting at a desk with Dwight is not an experience to be wished even on one's enemies... but love? Once you get past all the heartbreak and silly lies, love is surprisingly easy. [drabbles, JimPam]
1. Isle of View

Woohoo, my first Office fanfic! This is set during Jim's time at Stamford, based on a quote from the Season 3 premiere.

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**Isle of View**

Growing up in western Pennsylvania, Jim Halpert had rarely seen much more water than a bathtub's worth; and now out his window every day, he could see the ocean. He was used to snow and the shadows on snow, and now every day he looked out the window and saw colors he didn't have names for, colors like _heat-shimmer _and _azure-daze _and _dream-depths_. The sun on the water made him dizzy, and the occasional storm that loomed up like a nightmare from the depths of his subconscious made the whole world roil in flashes of lightning and purple and gray.

And sometimes, when he stared out at the horizon and realized just how far it stretched; sometimes the air conditioning hum and the click-click-clattering of busy fingers faded away, and Jim Halpert looking at the ocean felt like he was in the center of the universe, in a great stillness, and he was quietly awestruck by the beauty of it.

_Can't beat that view. _The most famous vista in the United States. Jim Halpert wasn't used to the ocean, and the sight of it still astounded him whenever he glanced up from his desk.

But sometimes (more often than he liked to think about), he looked up and was viciously, achingly disappointed when he only saw the ocean, and not the desk with the phones and the glint of curly brown hair.

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Review, please! Bonus points for anyone who knows why I picked the title. 


	2. Inhibitions

I suppose this is AU, because it doesn't fit anywhere with canon. If you must place it, I would place it in season 3, right at the very very end. It was just a little something bouncing around inside my head that wouldn't stretch itself properly into a full story. And, since I'm dabbling in drabbles lately anyway, here it is!

I'm not sure how happy I am with it; you, dear readers, will help me decide that. So be kind, and review!

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**Inhibitions**

They said alcohol loosened your inhibitions, and Pam was nothing _but_ inhibitions, layers upon layers of them caked on like stale midnights and grime. She'd gotten drunk maybe twice in her whole life; but breaking into Creed's desk was easier than she'd thought it would be, and the bottles were there, and with Michael's forced jokes crumpled up on the floor and the detritus of despair, the remains of the office Christmas party, all around her, well – it was December 22nd, and she was alone, and she was lonely.

The light was dim, monitors in the empty after-hours dark, but after the first whiskey that didn't matter; by the second she was crying with the pain of the regrets falling away, and by the third she was laughing, swaying, crazy and finally in a place above despair, above mundane, a reeling blindness resolutely ignoring all the pitfalls and chasms and heartbreaks below.

With the third whiskey she entered the wild stage, where she might have done something stupid, like try to fly off the roof or go and serenade Jim Halpert under his window. The only reason she didn't was because Jim Halpert came in just then (he'd left his coat), and found her broken and half-weeping on the floor, and all nonchalant and chivalrous he picked up the pieces. He picked up his best friend, and he carried her out of the echo-haunted building and into the night.

"I never knew you were such a wild girl, Beesly," he murmured as he helped her into his car, wrapping the retrieved coat around her trembling shoulders.

"I thought it would help," she hiccupped, miserable again, crying without noticing. "You know, with – with us. With the s-secret love thing." A pause. "Has it helped?"

He was silent, thoughtful, backing up and pulling out into the skeletal emptiness of Scranton at night. "Maybe a little," he answered after a while; but he looked over and saw that Pam had fallen asleep.

And though he knew she was hurting dark and deep, he couldn't help but smile; because she looked so beautiful in the flurry of passing streetlights, because now that he knew the hurt was there they could fix it, together (and maybe get to a place where neither of them would ever have to feel that particular pain again).

Stopped at a red light, he leaned over and kissed her forehead, the taste of her forbidden and sweet. He whispered, "It has helped. It's helped more than you know."

The light turned green, and he drove off into the darkness, and the snow, and the future.

The next day, neither one of them showed up for work.

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Open-ended, I know, but I kind of like the you-decide-what-happened kind of thing, every once in a while. If there's an overwhelming demand, maybe I'll write more, but I make no promises.

So, what did you think? Review!


	3. Long Haul

Okay, so... not a drabble. But still under five hundred words! Which makes this one, what? A quintuple-drabble? Close enough. (Now I want to write a thousand-word story to be able to claim a deca-drabble...)

This takes place in that moment during the last three minutes of 'The Job' -- you know the scene I mean, when Jim has just found the note in his sales figures and David Wallace starts asking him about his future. This is what we all know happened behind that stoic Jim mask, while we were all yelling at the TV: 'No, you idiot, don't do it! You love Pam, remember? Pam! Come on now, don't string the romantic tension out for another season!'

At any rate, here's the story.

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**The Long Haul**

"So – the long haul. Where do you see yourself in ten years?"

In that moment, the yogurt lid became a mirror, a mystical scrying pool in which Jim saw, clear as day, his future. The question that pounded in his head wasn't where he saw himself in ten years – whether he was promoted, fired, retired. Those things didn't matter. Instead, Jim heard the real question, which David Wallace didn't know he'd asked. That question was: _If, starting from this moment, you never go back to Scranton (to Pam), what kind of person will you be?_

Ten years. Take the Stamford feeling and multiply it by ten years. Take the relationship with Karen, the terrible silence on the other end of the phone line, the black coffee and no more pranks and expand it to – how long? One hundred and twenty months. Three thousand, six hundred and fifty midnights that felt like drowning.

But he was being unreasonable. Scranton was only two and half hours from New York; he could drive down, have lunch or something, maybe once a week. He could have glimpses of her, carefully rationed echoes of her laughter. An addictive poison in insufficient does while she lived her life, made friends, and fell in love, and he climbed back into his fancy car and drove back to the lonely city.

But he was being unrealistic. Taking this job would not be the end of the world; it would be nothing like death (no matter how similar they felt).

Ten years… he might be married. (He would be alone.) He might be content. (He would be a walking corpse.) He might be happy. (A skeleton with a tinfoil heart.)

Impatient, David Wallace cleared his throat. Jim asked himself the big question, the real question. That question was: _Can you survive ten years in this city? Can you survive ten years with Karen? Ten years without Pam?_

The only surprising thing about the answer was how little it surprised him.

When Jim left that place, he left the quarterly numbers on the table; and with them he left all the numbers, all the reasons, all the logic and the part of him that chose security, that chose Karen.

When he left Corporate, he took only the golden yogurt lid, tucked into the breast pocket of his sleek black suit. The tinfoil pressed against his skin like a hand over his heart.

(Ten years of mixed berries and laughter; he drove ten miles over the speed limit all the way home.)

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Review, please!


	4. Trepidation

Here's something a little different; one of a pair, based on that conversation between Jim and Pam in 'Launch Party'. The next one will hopefully be up soon. Until then, thanks to all my lovely reviewers of past and future!

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**Trepidation**

"I just have to ask… now that we're public, is the magic gone?"

Dwight, who kept an ear cocked at all times for Jim Halpert's unprofessional antics, froze. His fingers paused over the keys, the sales report on the screen halted in mid-word, and he seemed to be holding his breath. (He was curious. Intrigued. Listening.)

"It's funny you should bring that up, because – yes it is."

Behind the nylon wall, Angela paused as well; her lip curled the tiniest bit, which might have been a sneer or a scowl. Oscar swiveled around, eavesdropping shamelessly. (He hoped that Jim and Pam had at last found true love, to prove it possible.)

Kevin stared gloomily at the forkful of macaroni which was dripping cheese onto his carefully-prepared expense reports. He was envisioning a perfect PB & J sandwich, breaking apart; the two slices of bread, lonely and unable to hold on to each other, spun away into the void.

"Wow. Just like that, huh?"

"I don't know what is, but…"

"Be honest."

Stanley wasn't paying attention. Stanley didn't care. (A five-letter word for center, focal point, perfect pain: _heart_.)

"I now find you… repulsive?"

"That's honest."

The whole office was quiet now, listening. Andy rolled over in his chair and hissed into Dwight's ear; "_They're joking, right? I mean, Big Tuna, he's a tricky kind of guy. They've got to be joking_."

Michael was listening through his open door. He sat with his head in his hands, trying not to panic. _They're joking! _He reassured himself. _They were meant for each other! They have to be joking!_

"Well, it was fun while it lasted though, wasn't it?"

The office held its breath. Jim walked away.

(The world of Dunder Mifflin, Scranton was built on some strange foundations, but damn it they were foundations… and if you couldn't count on Jim and Pam being together then the whole thing came crashing down.)

And Pam just went back to work, offering her co-workers a faint half-smile that told them absolutely nothing.

Stanley read: _Six letters. A phrase or exclamation used to unveil a trick._

Stanley, master of deadpan detachment, smirked. And Stanley wrote, _Gotcha._

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At this part in the episode I actually turned to my sister (who was sitting next to me) and grabbed her by the shoulders, yelling, "They're kidding, right? Please tell me they're kidding! This is just another one of Jim's pranks!"

Thank God it was. I don't know what I might have done if they'd been serious...

(At any rate, please review!)


	5. It's A Kind of Magic

This is a sequel to the last one; it takes place after the episode 'Launch Party'.

Thanks to all my lovely reviewers. If you haven't already, please take this opportunity to become one of them!

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**It's a Kind of Magic**

Later that night, away from the camera and questions and prying eyes, he asked her again: "So, now that we're public, is the magic gone?"

She bit back her first impulse, which would be to joke, and thought about it. _Something_ was definitely gone – the sense of a shared secret, hidden meaning in every smile, the I-know-something-you-don't-know that she hadn't felt in years.

_Is the magic gone? _Was that their magic? Was that all there was to their relationship – the thrill of pulling off a prank, of getting away with something – and now that it was gone, now that their ruse was discovered, was it over? Would they be forced to move on to the next prank? _Oh, yeah, dating was good for a laugh, it was fun to feel like we were keeping a secret from Dwight. _But now that Dwight knew about them, they would have to abandon the high passion of pranksters and have a real relationship, out in the open, with fights and kisses and holding hands for everyone to see.

(Being public meant Michael's X-rated jokes. Being public meant Kelly's squealing and Kevin's sniggering. Above all, being public meant Dwight; Dwight making snide comments, Dwight comparing them to various Animal Planet mating rituals, Dwight misconstruing everything.)

Did that mean the magic was gone?

Pam felt a strange emotion welling up in her, something she hadn't felt since the night of the coal walk on the beach. _Determination. _

She was _damn _determined to not let her love life be decided by Dwight.

Jim was looking down at her, curious. He seemed startled by the glint of steel in Pam's eyes, but not half as startled as he was when she grabbed his collar in both hands and captured him in a fierce kiss.

And she felt it immediately – their magic. The firework-flash inside her head, and the slow, sunny warmth in the bottom of her soul; _this _was what mattered. Not the secrets, or the pranks, or the sarcasm from their co-workers. Not the suspicious stares or the gossip. Not Michael or Kelly or Dwight.

Being public meant that the office -- the world -- would try its hardest to make them feel stupid and silly and small. Being public meant that their co-workers wouldn't leave them alone together in the break room anymore for fear of what they'd do.

Being public meant that people would tell them to grow up, tell them to get serious, tell them that life wasn't all about love and happy endings were impossible.

Their magic was that they wouldn't care.

Jim and Pam pulled apart, and she flashed him a satisfied smirk. "I think there's still a little magic left," she told him, and he answered with that lazy, crazy grin.

"Good," he said. Then he leaned down and whispered, "Abra Kadabra."

He kissed her, and made the whole world disappear.

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The End.

Please, review!


	6. Hold On

Here's an update for Halloween! It isn't actually a Halloween story (I wish I could have written one, but I didn't have time!) so I figured a regular old update would have to do. I'll probably turn up with a Halloween drabble two weeks from now (if I'm not swamped NaNo WriMo-ing).

This is based on that cute little moment from the end of 'Local Ad', and takes place immediately afterwards. I'm getting really excited for tomorrow's episode!

(Oh, and another thing I'm excited about: this chapter is _exactly_ five hundred words!)

Review, please!

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**Hold On**

"So what was all that about?"

"What?" Jim asked absently, searching for his keys.

Pam waved a hand towards the pub, past the streetlamp-lit parking lot. "You know. That whole arm-around-the-shoulders thing. Like 'hey, man, she's _my_ girl'." She tried for a low voice and giggled at her own failure.

Jim raised an eyebrow. "Oh, I'm sorry, did you _want _to go with motorcycle-guy? Cause I'm sure he's still polishing his hog around back. You can go find him if you want."

Pam linked her arm through his and leaned her head on his shoulder, lack of sleep catching up with her. "I think you're jealous of motorcycle-guy," she teased. "I think you're getting a little possessive, Halpert. Afraid some handsome bartender is going to muscle in on your girl." She giggled again, and Jim tried to remember just how much he'd seen her drink.

"Not afraid," he corrected her, "Just selfish. Selling paper beats riding a motorcycle any day; I just can't stand the thought of you kissing anyone but me." And he kissed her, to prove how unwise a decision that would be.

Michael's horn jolted them apart, and they made their way back to the car, smiling. As they climbed in, Jim thought that possessive wasn't the word; he didn't aim to lock her up, hold her back, claim her as his own. No; she'd had more than enough of that from Roy, more than anyone should have to endure. But he couldn't help thinking that putting his arm around her shoulders like that _had_ been an act of proprietorship. _Back off, buddy, she's taken. She's mine._

But it hadn't been because he was possessive; it was because motorcycle-guy didn't know anything about her, didn't know the way she smiled, the way she giggled to herself during Michael's presentations, the way she flicked paper clips into Dwight's coffee cup when he wasn't looking. And she deserved more than some schmuck off the street; and if Jim made it clear she was with him, then who could blame him? Pam was his world, his sun, his sanity; she was so smart, so beautiful, so wonderful that no wonder other guys would be interested in her. And she _was _his, just like he was hers.

And he couldn't help thinking that if he lost her, he wouldn't stop at a second Second Life; he would lose himself in ten thousand layers of computer simulation, put as much space as he could between himself and reality (that unending agony) until he had might as well be dead.

As he pulled out of the parking lot, he put his arm around her shoulders again, because he could; because she was with him and not with Roy, or motorcycle-guy, or anyone else. She promptly leaned into his touch, and closed her eyes. For that feeling of her pressed up against him, he would let her laugh, and tease, and call him names.

But he'd be damned if he'd ever let her go.

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The End. Review, please! 


	7. Regret

There have been almost zero new Office fics in the last few days! Why is that? Come on, people, get writing!

This was written in the aftermath of last night's epsiode, Branch Wars. I knew that things would be interesting once Karen got involved, and the episode certainly didn't disappoint. So here's my two cents on it, becuase I'm a fanfiction writer and it's my prerogative.

Three hundred words this time!

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**Regret**

Why had he done it?

He could have, should have called a cab from the roadside. Then he wouldn't have gotten caught in a warehouse uniform in the Utica parking lot. He wouldn't have had to sit in Karen's office like a little boy getting scolded by the principal, or listen to her (completely justified) bitterness and pain.

So why had he gone?

Because he hated to admit it, but he _had_ wanted to see her, a little bit. He'd been curious; he wanted to know how she was doing, how she'd dealt with his swift exit from her life. She was a complex person – would she accept it and move on, dismissing him as not worth it? Would she put him down in her own mind, vilify him, hate him? Would she go on to look for happiness herself, or would she get hung up on it, with the same dangerous passion she channeled into her work?

He'd been a little bit scared and a little bit nostalgic and he'd wanted to see her somewhere deep down, because though he'd never loved her, he _had_ genuinely cared for her, and that wasn't something he could turn off.

Pam asked him, quietly, "Why'd you go?"

Jim had never been good at hurting people, at breaking up. He had a feeling he'd botched this one worse than usual; but as Pam wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against his chest, he knew that if he hadn't done the right thing, at least he'd done the best he could.

All he could do was hope for Karen's forgiveness, maybe even someday for her friendship…

He'd buy her a new industrial copier for her birthday.

He answered Pam's question, "Someone had to try and protect Utica from Michael and Dwight."

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The End. Review, please! 


	8. First Date

This one is in a slightly different style than usual... I'm trying my hand at the more dialogue-based fics, in the tradition of the inestimable Cousin Mose (go read Happy Anniversary, if you haven't already; it's fantastic).

This is in the far future. It's an experiment, so please let me know what you think!

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**First Date**

Jim stood staring out at the night for a moment. Then he carefully locked the front door and returned to the kitchen, where his wife of seventeen years waited with a cup of coffee and a reproachful expression.

"She's sixteen, you know," Pam told him.

"Yup." Jim walked past her and took down another coffee mug.

Pam tried again. "We knew she'd start dating eventually."

"Oh, I know. I've been preparing for years."

"We swore we wouldn't do this," Pam sighed. "She's going to hate you forever when she finds out what you did."

"No, she won't." Jim was confident. "She'll just get me back."

Pam rolled her eyes. "Right. Of course. She is _your_ daughter."

Jim said nothing; he only grinned.

"Look, I know that kid was obnoxious," Pam groaned, "And I can understand putting the crazy glue in his helmet…"

"So much gel in his hair I'm surprised it doesn't stick already," Jim murmured.

"… but was the toothpaste-and-silly-string thing really necessary?"

Jim leaned back against the counter, smiling into his coffee. "If they really like each other, their relationship will survive," he pronounced, sage and composed. Then he cracked his wicked prankster grin. "Besides, Lily should know better than to go out with some motorcycle-riding punk."

Pam couldn't help it any longer; she burst into hysterical laughter.

Jim sipped at his coffee.

From the night outside, there came the very faint sound of screams…

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Remember, I need feedback to know whether my experiments succeed!


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